After the War: A Novella of the Golden City by J. Kathleen Cheney

Author:J. Kathleen Cheney [Cheney, J. Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: J. Kathleen Cheney, Fantasy, The Golden City--series
Publisher: EQP Books
Published: 2016-08-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

* * *

Saturday, 26 June 1920

ALEJANDRO CLUTCHED his gut in agony but, as abruptly as it had begun, the twisting of his innards ceased. For a moment he lay there, disbelieving. Then he worked himself onto his hands and knees and gasped in air as the others clamored around him. Sweat dripped from his hair, stinging his eyes as he looked up.

The Lady stood between him and Markovich, her hands held wide. She was blocking the curse by creating a glamour and making Alejandro unseen. Line of sight.

Her husband stood behind her, a second, physical block since Gaspar was immune to magic.

Alejandro coughed. They had put themselves between him and the curse. They’d defeated a maledictor. “You stopped him.”

The Lady glanced down at him. “To be honest, I’ve no idea if that would have worked,” she said, pointing, “but that did.”

Past her skirts, Alejandro saw Markovich lying on the ground unconscious. Roberto stood over him, rubbing the reddened knuckles of one hand in the other, jaw clenched in fury.

Alejandro coughed, then lay back on the floor and thanked God he wasn’t inside out. “Thanks, Roberto,” he croaked.



Isabella Anjos held one hand to Alejandro’s throat, her eyes closed. The pretty young woman was only sixteen or seventeen, with dark blond hair worn cropped short in the current fashion. Her uniform reminded him of a novice at a monastery, but instead of black, the dress under the white apron was the blue of the Special Police. That she was a healer explained her tutelage here under the senior healers gathered at the military hospital across the street from the Special Police’s station. It kept the healers both within easy reach of the Special Police, and at a hospital where they might aid the doctors.

Inspector Gaspar had dragged Markovich to a hospital room there until the Englishman should regain consciousness. He’d ordered Alejandro to find the healers . . . just to make certain Markovich hadn’t done anything permanent to him. Upon spotting him, Mrs. Pinheiro—his cousin Rafael’s wife—directed him to a small whitewashed room and ordered him to wait while she fetched in her pupil.

Apparently Alejandro knew the girl. Her parents too, although they’d both died during the Great War. Given the warning look Mrs. Pinheiro cast his way, he didn’t ask how or where. That was the sort of question one asked another soldier or a close friend, not an orphaned child.

After a short time, the girl opened her eyes and lifted her hand from Alejandro’s throat. “You’ll be fine, Mr. Ferreira.”

Evidently they weren’t friendly enough for her to use his given name as everyone else did.

No matter what this girl said, his head hurt and his guts felt unsettled. “Thank you,” he said anyway.

She rose from her bedside chair and gazed down at him, dislike now apparent in the hard set of her delicate jaw. “Why haven’t you gone to see Miguel?”

Mrs. Pinheiro took a breath and appeared ready to intervene, but then changed her mind. Perhaps she wanted that answer as well.

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